


Strange things can happen

by irisdouglasiana



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Everybody Lives, F/M, Please Don't Take This Seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana
Summary: Ragnar and Ecbert avert mutually assured destruction and end a vicious cycle of war and retaliation, to the great dismay of everybody else involved.Canon divergent from 4x14 onwards.
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 65





	1. You promised WHAT?

“You promised WHAT?”

Ragnar glanced behind himself just in time to catch Ecbert’s guards looking on curiously as Ivar’s yelp echoed down the halls. “King Ecbert and I have come to an agreement,” he explained for the second time, though with slightly less patience. “This new treaty will be to the benefit of both of our people, and you have an important role to play in uniting our two countries. I did tell you that you were special, remember?”

His son crossed his arms and glared at him. “Why don’t I get a say in this?”

Ragnar shrugged and straightened up. He winced a little as his back cracked, but he was certainly happy to no longer be sitting in chains in a dungeon. Why settle for revenge when you can get something better? “You can choose what color you want to wear for your wedding. Ecbert will have new clothes made for us.”

“I won’t do it. I refuse. You can’t force me to marry this girl, whoever she is.”

“She’s not just a girl. She’s a princess—Prince Aethelwulf’s daughter by his first wife—and she’s even your age, and a very lovely person, Ecbert assures me,” Ragnar said with a sigh. “And you will do it. I’ll tie you to a chair myself if I have to. What are you going to do, run away?”

Obviously not. Still, Ivar shook his head. “Mother will never allow it,” he declared, though Ragnar could hear the note of desperation creeping into his voice.

“Your mother doesn’t have to know about this until afterwards.” He knew the boy was right, of course; Aslaug would be furious, but it would be too late by the time she heard about it.

Ivar lowered his head. “I can’t—I won’t—” he mumbled.

Ragnar raised his eyebrows. “Is there a problem?”

His son’s face was very, very red. “No.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. Now, have you decided what color you want?”

* * *

“You promised WHAT?”

There was nothing that made a kingdom—or just a king, but it was really his opinion that mattered most—rejoice more than a well matched union to secure its wealth and flourish. And Ecbert was indeed very happy about the deal he had just struck, though it was clear that his son would need some additional reassurance.

“I came to an agreement with Ragnar,” he explained once again to Aethelwulf, who was leaning forward in his chair with his mouth agape. “Your daughter is to marry his son, Ivar, who will remain with us in Wessex. There will be no more bloodshed between our peoples and we will have a favorable trade deal. You knew this day would come sooner than later, and Aldreda is certainly old enough.”

His son pursed his lips and turned away, his face growing red with anger. “You promised my daughter to a heathen?” he said. “To these barbarians that have plagued our kingdom for so long? Was it your disdain for me that made you sell my only daughter in this manner, without bothering to first seek my permission?”

“My son, nothing of that sort. Have you not been listening? This is an honor, a historic moment. The best possible outcome for Aldreda.”

“I want her to be safe.”

“But she is safe here with us. I would never send her to live among the heathens. And the boy, you have seen his condition, he is no threat.”

“I indeed have,” Aethelwulf replied coolly. There was a long pause as he let his words settle. “You call it a great honor. Another man might consider it a great insult, both to himself and his daughter. A mockery.”

This time Ecbert’s voice was cold. “I am certain Aldreda will do her duty. As will you.”

He watched Aethelwulf’s expressions cycle from anger to resentment to resignation. They had fought these battles many times over, and his son’s strategy was always the same: grudgingly cede ground and accept that Ecbert had won, but hold out for a moderate concession or two. It was not a strategy that usually worked out well for him. “The boy needs to be baptized,” Aethelwulf said. “You won’t marry your granddaughter to a heathen.”

Ecbert shrugged. “His father was baptized before, and Ivar and Aldreda will be married according to Christian customs. That satisfies me and it should satisfy you.”

“But Father—”

“We cannot delay with formalities, Aethelwulf. This needs to happen quickly,” Ecbert continued. “You see, Ragnar and I spoke for many hours last night, and I now grasp the workings of the pagan mind. He was displeased with the liquidation of their settlement all those years ago, but he understands well enough why it happened and the difficulty of my position. And he understands as well the benefits of establishing a formal trade arrangement, sealed by marriage. But the longer we wait, the more likely it becomes that this opportunity will slip away. And so.”

He filled his cup once more and watched Aethelwulf shaking with anger out of the corner of his eye. Then his son abruptly slumped over in defeat. “Did you already tell her? Or have you left that to me?”

Ecbert sighed. “You’re her father and she should hear it from you. Don’t frighten her, please. It is perhaps not the match she expected, but there is no cause for alarm.”

Aethelwulf nodded and left the room without another word, leaving Ecbert alone with only his wine jug for company. He rubbed his beard and raised his cup in a toast to no one in particular. “To the happy bride and groom,” he declared, and downed it in a single gulp.

* * *

It was not often that Aldreda found herself entirely speechless, but this turned out to be one of those times: sitting beside her tutor with her Greek lesson entirely forgotten while her father apologized as he explained that she was to be married in two days’ time to a heathen. 

“I had hoped for a better suitor,” he said. “A gallant lord, gentle and strong, not...this. But I promise you, the boy will be christianized. I told your grandfather I would not permit my only daughter to live with pagans. I was very clear about that.”

“Thank you,” Aldreda answered, for lack of anything better to say. She had seen Ragnar’s son a few times now, mostly absorbed in games of chess with Alfred. He had never spoken so much as a single word to her, nor she to him. “Does he speak our language?”

Her father shook his head. “Only a little, from what I understand. But you know some of his, and he can learn, if he’s to live among us.”

She was silent for just long enough to make her father uneasy. Unexpectedly, he stepped close and grabbed her hands. “If he dares harm you in any way, I will—I’ll…”

He didn’t say what he would do, but she had the feeling that he needed comfort more than she did. She managed to muster up a small smile. “I am sure I will be fine, Father,” she said. 

That seemed to reassure him somewhat. She waited until after he had gone before turning to her tutor and politely but firmly asking him to leave her in peace for a moment. Once the door was closed, she stood up and walked over to the window. She thrust her hand outside and felt a few drops of rain splash onto her palm. Then she took a deep breath, stuck her head out and stared up at the grey sky, and screamed.

She heard a knock at the door and she drew her head back in and smoothed out her dress. “Yes?”

Her tutor pushed the door open a few inches. “Is everything all right, my lady?” he asked hesitantly.

_I am to be sold off in two days to a pagan, the son of our enemy, so no, everything is not entirely all right._ But she knew her grandfather, and he always got what he wanted, didn’t he? She gave her tutor a bright, angry smile. “Shall we continue the lesson from where we left off?”


	2. Do your duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Aldreda’s wedding goes off without a hitch. The wedding night, on the other hand, goes less than smoothly.

“Hold still,” Judith told Aldreda as the servants finished pinning back her stepdaughter’s hair. “You don’t want the veil to come loose halfway through the ceremony.”

The girl nodded, careful not to move her head too quickly. At least she wasn’t sobbing on her shoulder; Judith thanked God for that. She remembered shedding a few tears of nervous anticipation before her own wedding some ten years ago, and her circumstances had been considerably better than Aldreda’s—or so it had seemed at the time. She had gone into her marriage harboring delusions of love and romance. Aldreda would be spared all that, which was for the best, really.

Judith supposed she should give her some advice at this vulnerable moment. That was the maternal thing to do. “You understand your duty tonight? I need not explain to you?”

“Yes,” Aldreda said, biting her lip and turning red. “I mean, no. Yes, I understand my duty. No, you do not need to explain.”

“Good,” Judith said. “Well, I will say this: get yourself with his child as soon as possible. It will please your grandfather. Afterwards, you need not see much of each other. You will both be happier that way.”

Aldreda opened her mouth to say something, but then there was a knock at the door. Aethelwulf poked his head inside. “May I?”

Judith gave him as cordial a smile as she could muster. She and Aethelwulf were being very cordial to each other lately. Exceedingly cordial. Maybe almost excessively cordial. “Of course. She is nearly ready.” 

He shut the door behind him and gave his daughter a slightly pained smile as Judith stepped aside. “You look beautiful,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek. “The ceremony has been modified somewhat, to...to accommodate Ivar’s condition. He will be waiting for you at the altar, and you both will remain seated, no kneeling. I am told he has been instructed how to conduct himself. And I am sure all will go well.”

He looked queasy as he said it, but then he cleared his throat and fished around in his pocket for something. He pulled out a gold necklace set with a single large pearl and handed it to Aldreda. “It was your mother’s,” he explained. “She brought it with her from Mercia and wore it when we were married. I am sorry she is not here to see what a fine young woman you have become.”

“Oh,” Aldreda said, and finally Judith could see her eyes starting to well up with tears. Aethelwulf rarely spoke of his first wife, a Mercian princess who had died not long after their daughter was born. They had only been married a short time.

“Be careful of the veil,” Judith told Aethelwulf sharply as he clasped the necklace around Aldreda’s neck. “The servants just pinned it.”

“It can be pinned again,” Aldreda said a little peevishly. Then, unexpectedly, she threw herself into her father’s arms and murmured something to him that Judith couldn’t hear. Unbidden, Judith thought of herself sitting with her own father before her wedding: no words of comfort or encouragement, only a stern reminder to obey her new husband and do nothing that would bring shame upon Northumbria. In both matters, she had been a great disappointment indeed. 

At last, Aethelwulf set Aldreda down, put his hands on her shoulders, and smiled. “Are you ready?”

She gave him a shaky little smile in return. “No. But it’s time to go anyway.”

* * *

“Hold still,” Ragnar muttered to Ivar as he once again straightened out the collar of his shirt and brushed away some invisible speck of dust. “You want to look good for your bride, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” Ivar said through gritted teeth. He craned his neck to look over his shoulder at the gathering crowd behind him. Ecbert gave him a little wave and a smile and he immediately turned away, focusing instead on the candles and rings and the bowl of water that the priest had set out on the altar. He glowered at the dead Christian god staring reproachfully at him from the cross. “This is taking too long,” he grumbled. “Shouldn’t she be here already?”

“See, that is the right attitude,” Ragnar said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, she will be here soon, and then you will get to spend the rest of your lives together.”

“I don’t want to marry a Christian.”

“Well, we all must face disappointments in life.” He straightened up at the sound of commotion at the back of the hall and then stepped back. “Your bride has arrived. Behave yourself or I’ll make you regret it.”

As Aldreda took her seat beside him, determinedly looking straight ahead, he had a sudden image in his mind of himself miraculously springing to his feet, shoving the altar over, and dashing out of the hall to freedom before they could catch him. This was not going to happen, of course, but it was still a nice thought.

He sat there with a pit of dread in his stomach and held on to that image while the priest droned on in Latin, and followed Aldreda’s lead in lighting candles and exchanging rings, and said whatever words he was supposed to say, and before he knew it a loud cheer went up through the hall and Ragnar and another man were picking him up, chair and all, and hauling him and his bride off to the wedding feast. Still in a daze, they dumped him into his seat at the head table with Aldreda to his left and his father to his right, and the musicians started to play a lively tune.

For lack of anything better to do, he took his cup and chugged his wine, and then held out his cup to a servant, who obligingly refilled it. He had resolved beforehand to spend the wedding feast getting as drunk as humanly possible. But by the time he had finished his third cup, he kept finding himself unable to catch the attention of any of the servants, and he was beginning to have a suspicion that his father had something to do with it.

He stole a glance at his father, deep in conversation with Ecbert and his own cup unattended. Just as he reached for it, Ragnar casually turned and shoved his hand away. 

“I’m pleased you’re enjoying your wedding,” Ragnar told him quietly. His grip on his wrist was like iron. “But you still have a duty to fulfill. Don’t disappoint your bride.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and looked at his...wife...who was determinedly ignoring him and saying something to her stepmother. She looked fine, he supposed, not as ugly as she could have been, but nothing special. However, because she was determined to ignore him, she also had not been paying much attention to the location of her wine cup, and so when the opportunity arose, he took it.

It took her a few moments to realize what he had done, but then she turned and glared at him. “That is my…” she began in horrendous Norse before switching back to English. “...wine. Give it back. Please.”

He ignored her and drank the rest of her wine in one gulp, somewhat disappointed to discover that the cup was mostly empty anyway. Then he gave the cup back. “Tell the servant to fill it up,” he ordered. She appeared to understand him well enough but did not seem inclined to obey. Instead, she gave him an irritated look and turned back to Judith, taking her cup with her.

His father clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed hard enough for it to hurt. “Stop that,” he murmured in his ear before getting to his feet. “Lords and ladies,” he announced in English in a loud voice, clapping his hands. The hall went quiet and every head turned to look. “Long have our people fought each other, and made senseless war, and sacrificed the youngest and the best among us. But in his infinite wisdom, King Ecbert—and myself, of course—have seen a new vision for a shared future in which we need not destroy one another to live. It all begins tonight with the union of my son Ivar and Aethelwulf’s daughter Aldreda.”

Some scattered drunken cheers went up throughout the hall, and then his father once again motioned for silence. Ivar saw Ecbert grinning from ear to ear, and at Ecbert’s side, Aethelwulf looked somewhat less than pleased. 

“The night is still young,” Ragnar continued. “The happy couple have many, many years ahead of them. But I have great hopes for a new grandchild, as does my friend Ecbert, and so let us wait no longer! Let them consummate the marriage without delay. Now, to bed!”

“Wait, no—” Ivar barely managed to sputter before Ragnar picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. From his view over Ragnar’s shoulder, Aldreda met his eyes and turned pale. But Ecbert was already at her side and eagerly tugging at her elbow, and so she got up and followed them down the hall to their bedchamber, trailed by the entire court.

“Father, _please,_ ” Ivar begged. Ragnar didn’t hear him—or, more likely, was ignoring him. Gods, he was nowhere near drunk enough for any of this. He briefly considered trying to vomit to buy himself more time, but by the time he had worked that out in his head it was already too late: Ragnar dumped him unceremoniously on the bed with a hearty yell and Ecbert all but shoved Aldreda into the room. 

And then, like that, the door was shut firmly behind them and they were alone together for the first time. 

* * *

Aldreda could hear the sounds of the wedding party still going on outside the room, but inside, it was too quiet. She turned away to slowly take out her earrings, unclasp her mother’s necklace, and unbraid her hair. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to see Ivar lying rigid on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. He hadn’t even taken off his boots. He turned his head to catch her eye and then he immediately looked away.

She had kept her composure all throughout the evening but now she could feel it slipping as she moved on to the task of getting out of her wedding dress, her hands slippery with sweat as she undid the buttons. When she was down to just her shift, she carefully folded and draped the dress over a chair and paused. Behind her, she could tell that Ivar hadn’t moved an inch. _Surely he knew what they were supposed to do now. Surely his father had explained it. He wasn’t that much younger than her; how could he not know?_

She walked over to the bed and hesitantly took a seat beside him. His jaw twitched, but he still kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. She reached out to take his hand, but before she could even touch him he grabbed her wrist and glared at her. His grip was stronger than she expected, and with a lurch she realized he could probably break her wrist easily if he wanted to.

“ _No_ ,” he snarled at her in English. Then he let go of her arm and pushed her aside.

She could feel her heart thumping loudly in her chest. “You...don’t want…” she began to say in Norse, but she didn’t know the words that came after that. Ivar was still glaring at her, and if she had been afraid of him before, now she was angry. She switched over to English. “I didn’t want this either,” she snapped. “But we’re married now, so we should do our duty, and once you give me a child we can live apart.”

She couldn’t tell how much he understood, but all at once his face crumpled and he began to weep, sobbing so hard it seemed like he could hardly breathe. He rolled over on his side so that he was facing away from her and curled up in a ball. Aldreda could hear him mumbling tearfully in Norse, though the words were so garbled it was impossible to understand. She nearly reached out to comfort him, but then she stopped herself: if she had been the one to weep instead of him, she could hardly imagine him offering her any sort of comfort. So she stretched out on the bed beside him, careful to keep her distance, and listened until his sobs ended and his breathing slowed, and at some point, she too fell into a fitful sleep.


	3. You never know with Saxon women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ecbert has some advice for the newlyweds on the morning after. Ragnar makes an important announcement.

Ecbert’s head hurt, but it was nothing that a little wine with breakfast couldn’t fix. The evening had been something of a blur after they had put the newlyweds to bed: all he could really be certain of was that Ragnar had taught him some sort of dirty song in his language, and that he had lost a shoe at some point, so on the whole he had to consider the night a success. Though he did need to confirm one thing to _truly_ count it as a success.

“I do hope that Aldreda and Ivar will be here before their breakfast gets cold,” he remarked to his son, who had been quietly eating his porridge. “However...that may be a good sign. It is unusual for a newly married couple to conceive on their first night together, but—” he nodded at Ragnar on the other side of the table, who also seemed a bit hungover—“as we all know, Ivar comes from fertile stock, so I would say that the chances are higher than normal. Wouldn’t you agree, Aethelwulf?”

If it was possible to stir porridge in a resentful manner, then Aethelwulf had surely mastered it. “I suppose so,” he said reluctantly. He looked over at Aethelred and Alfred, desperately searching for a different subject. “Alfred, don’t push your porridge to the sides of the bowl. You aren’t fooling anyone and you’ll just be hungry later.”

“Sorry, Father,” Alfred said. He still did not eat his porridge. He stirred it. Resentfully.

“Father, before Aldreda and Ivar arrive, if I may…” Aethelwulf said in a low voice, leaning in closer to Ecbert. “I know a great deal has been invested in this marriage and...and everyone hopes it will be profitable and agreeable to all. But they are young and no doubt somewhat overwhelmed by these events, and so all I ask is that you show some tact and restraint this morning.”

“Oh, is that all?” Ecbert gave his son a reassuring smile. “I will be very circumspect, I promise you that. Ah, and here they are!”

Aldreda came in first, followed by Ivar, with his arms slung over the guards’ shoulders. They deposited him on the chair next to Aldreda, directly across from Ecbert. Both of them stared intently at their porridge. Neither of them made a move to touch it.

“Please, eat,” Ecbert told them in an encouraging tone. “Both of you must have worked up an appetite by now. I do hope last night was fruitful?” 

“Father,” Aethelwulf said through gritted teeth.

Aldreda gave him a pained smile before looking at Ecbert. “We...know each other somewhat better now.”

“Hm.” That did not quite sound like the resounding success Ecbert had envisioned. “In a carnal manner, I hope. There is no need to be modest; we’re all family here. Though it is also good to become better acquainted on a personal level as well.”

Aldreda turned bright red. At her side, Ivar looked like he wanted to slide under the table and disappear into a hole in the ground. 

“Of course, it can be difficult to be intimate with someone you have only just met,” Ecbert acknowledged. “You will grow more comfortable with each other over time. After all, you have many things in common, such as...such as your age. Yes. The two of you are nearly the same age. And...hm.”

“Thank you for the advice, Grandfather,” Aldreda said after a moment. Nobody seemed to want to speak after that. 

As the silence lengthened, Ragnar suddenly cleared his throat. “I have an announcement,” he said. “Now that my son is married and our treaty is secured, I intend to return home as soon as the weather is favorable. King Ecbert, I trust that I may have use of one of your ships?”

“Certainly,” Ecbert replied. “You are quite welcome to remain as long as you like, but I understand you must have responsibilities to attend to in Kattegat. Rest assured that Ivar will be well taken care of.”

Ivar’s head shot up, his mouth hanging open in dismay. “What are you talking about, old man?” he asked his father in Norse. “You can’t leave me here with these people!”

“Shut up,” Ragnar answered as Ecbert pretended to not understand the exchange. “We will talk about this later.”

The boy sat back in his chair with a sullen expression, and Ecbert moved to intervene. So long as Ivar was sulking and unhappy, there would be little chance that he and Aldreda would conceive an heir. “Perhaps after breakfast, you would like to join Aethelred and Alfred in the training yard?” he asked Ivar. “Ragnar tells me that you have some skill with a bow, and the boys may learn something from your technique. Unless you wish to spend the morning with your bride?”

Ivar looked up at that. “Training,” he said in English, and Ecbert thought he saw Aldreda let out a small sigh of relief. He would talk to each of them separately later, if necessary. But Aethelwulf had made reasonable points earlier that the couple had perhaps been overwhelmed by the turn of events, and Ecbert was nothing if not a reasonable man. There was still time—so long as they didn’t make him wait forever.

* * *

Ivar finally managed to shake off the guards after dinner. The pair had evidently been tasked with dragging him around anywhere he needed to go—as punishment for something, he assumed—but it had been getting somewhat tiresome, and at any rate, he could get around perfectly well on his own. He ignored the stares he was getting from the passing servants and nobles as he crawled down the hall and banged on Ragnar’s door until his father finally opened it and let him in.

“You can’t leave,” Ivar snapped at him the moment the door was shut.

His father raised his eyebrows. “I thought I was clear about the nature of the agreement with Ecbert,” he said as he took a seat on the floor next to Ivar. “He allowed you to marry Aldreda on the condition you live with them. _Me_ staying was not part of that. My brother Rollo remained at the court in Paris after he married the emperor’s daughter. It is a normal arrangement.”

“I thought Rollo was a great traitor.”

“Well, yes. But my point still stands.”

Ivar’s eyes began to well up with sudden tears and he turned his head away so his father would not see. _But if you leave, I’ll be all alone here._ “Mother will kill you if you go back without me.”

Ragnar laughed. “I’m willing to take that risk, but I think her heart will soften once she understands the benefits of our new trade agreement,” he said. He clapped Ivar on the shoulder and leaned in close. “Your task here is simple but important. All you have to do is please your bride. I assume you can do that?”

Ivar pulled away. “What sort of an idiotic question is that?” he asked with a scowl. “Of course I can. I will...I will...give her pleasure like she’s never had before in her life at this stupid court.” Even as the words left his mouth, he could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment. How had his father failed to see through all his lies?

Rather than asking more questions about how exactly Ivar intended to achieve this, Ragnar grinned. “Excellent. Don’t tell your father-in-law, though. He _is_ looking for an excuse to kill you.” 

“Aethelwulf can go fuck himself.”

Ragnar positively beamed at him. Then he pulled out a flask, took a swig, and handed it to Ivar, who followed suit. “Well, boy, since it’s our last night together for some time, we can drink to that.”

From there, things became somewhat fuzzy. They both ended up lying on the floor at some point, with Ivar half listening as Ragnar somewhat incoherently recalled his past exploits. He had almost stopped paying attention entirely when his father suddenly said, “Oh yes, that was the time I was with your mother and Lagertha. Now _that_ was a night worth remembering, though I think they enjoyed each other’s company more than they enjoyed mine.”

Ivar propped himself up on his elbows. “What?”

Ragnar shrugged. “Don’t look at me, it was your mother’s idea. She got Lagertha to go along with it. Lagertha would have killed me if I’d made the suggestion again.”

“Again?”

“Oh. Never mind that.” He sat up woozily, cleared his throat, and leaned closer to Ivar. “Listen, your bride must have lady friends, right? It might be worth asking. See if Aldreda would be interested. But you need to be delicate about it. You don’t want her to take it the wrong way.”

Ivar could feel his face growing hot again. “I don’t think she has lady friends. There aren’t that many women here for some reason. Just Aldreda and Aethelwulf’s wife. Some servants.”

“Oh, well, servants can be fun too, but I’m sure you know that.” Ragnar flopped back down on the floor. “You were just a child at the time, you wouldn’t remember, but there was this one slave back in Kattegat...beautiful woman, never seen anyone like her before, she was from...from...well, it doesn’t matter. But I sucked her toes once.”

Ivar stared at him. “She liked it?”

“I think so. Anyway, might be another thing to try with your wife. These Saxon women...you never know with Saxon women...”

Ivar supposed he did not know. He lay there on the floor next to Ragnar for a while, trying unsuccessfully to rid himself of the mental image of his father sucking on a woman’s toes, and then imagining what his life would look like in Wessex all by himself, surrounded by strangers. It wasn’t too late, he thought to himself. He could just tell Ragnar the truth and then Ecbert and Aethelwulf would be more than happy to be rid of him. Aldreda would certainly be thrilled to have him gone. All he had to do was swallow the humiliation of everyone knowing that, on top of everything else, he was incapable of doing a man’s duty. But at least he could go home.

“Father?” he said softly. “I need to tell you something.”

No answer. He turned his head to look. Ragnar was passed out beside him, limbs sprawled and his mouth wide open as he snored. 

_Great. This was just great._ “Fuck you too,” Ivar sighed.


	4. Matthew 6:9-13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar supplements his diet. Aldreda delivers an ultimatum.

Ivar had a pair of unwelcome visitors the morning after his father had left. Aethelwulf, with a skinny and rather nervous-looking priest trailing behind him, had interrupted him in the middle of his chess game and sent Alfred out with a few words. Then he took a seat across from Ivar and folded his hands.

“I will speak plainly with you,” his father-in-law began. “I did not approve of this marriage. I do not like your father, and I do not like you. But the king has made his decision and you are lawfully married to my daughter, and I will abide by it. However, if you are to live among us, then you must conform to our way of living. It is no fault of yours that you were born a heathen, but now you have the opportunity to learn the true religion.”

Without waiting for an answer, he beckoned for the priest to come forward, and then stood up and gave Ivar a hostile smile. “This is Father Wilfred. He is to give you your first lesson today.”

After Aethelwulf was gone, the priest took his seat and handed Ivar a small book. Ivar frowned and flipped through the pages, skimming past indecipherable writing and small pictures of rather miserable-looking saints. He had learned everything he needed to know about the Christians and their false god from Floki and his mother, but he had never held such an object before. He was not particularly impressed.

“I brought you a prayer book,” Father Wilfred said in fairly good Norse. “I know it means little to you now, but in time you will learn and we may read it together. I thought to begin with the Lord’s Prayer from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter six—”

Without breaking eye contact with the priest, Ivar took one of the pages and slowly tore it from the book. Then he stuffed it in his mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed. It tasted absolutely horrible, but the look on Father Wilfred’s face was worth it.

“...chapter...chapter six—uh, verse nine…” he trailed off. He stood up abruptly. “Maybe we should revisit the lesson later. You can keep the book.”

Once the priest was gone, Ivar tore out a few more pages and scattered them on the floor just because he felt like it. Aethelwulf could pick them up if he wanted. Then he turned back to the chessboard and began plotting out his next move for whenever Alfred returned. This time, he would win for sure.

* * *

Aldreda had never held great hopes for a romantic marriage. Even as a child, she had understood her role as a princess of Wessex: she would marry a man of her grandfather’s choosing in order to secure an alliance, and then she would have his children—preferably male, and preferably many. Whether there was love between her and her husband was of no particular relevance. The most she had dared wish for in a husband was companionship and mutual respect, and that he would not be forty years her senior.

For the moment, the main point in Ivar’s favor was that he was not forty years her senior. In all other matters, he had been less than impressive, especially after a few nights of lying next to him in bed in total silence. Still, her grandfather had been right to say that it would take time for them to get to know each other. Perhaps she just needed to reserve her judgment for now and give him another chance.

Aldreda tried to hold that thought as she joined her family for dinner that evening. She smiled at Ivar as she took her seat beside him. He gave her a look of sheer misery in response, and her desire to be more gracious towards him immediately evaporated. He didn’t have to pretend to be wildly in love with her, but it was no excuse to act like this. _Fine,_ she told him in her head. _Sulk as much as you want._

He couldn’t have been _that_ sad, though. She watched as his eyes followed a servant girl around the room. He motioned her over, holding out his cup, and as she poured him more wine he reached out with his free hand and groped her with a sly grin on his face. The girl turned bright red, pressed her lips together, and walked away quickly.

Aldreda glanced around the table to see if anyone had noticed. Her stepmother was talking to her grandfather, and Aethelred was in the middle of a conversation with their father. Only Alfred was staring at her and Ivar, his eyes wide. She shook her head at him and then looked over at Ivar, who was happily drinking his wine. She had done her best to be tactful and courteous and accommodating. Now her patience was at an end.

So she waited until everyone was done eating and the plates had been cleared away. Her father took Aethelred and Alfred out to the yard to train before it got too dark, and her grandfather went to his bath and her stepmother to the library (and possibly later to the bath to join her grandfather, Aldreda supposed, but she wasn’t supposed to know anything about _that_ ). 

Once they were all gone, she got up and motioned for the guards to take Ivar and follow her back to their room. She waited until the door was fully shut and then she stood there and watched with her arms crossed as he made his way over to the bed, heaved himself onto it, and started undressing for the night. In the beginning, they both had been somewhat embarrassed to undress in front of each other, but after a couple days they mutually decided to simply pretend the other person didn’t exist. 

He finally realized she was watching him by the time he had unstrapped the leather braces he wore around his legs. “What?” he asked her sullenly in English. It was the most he had said to her in days.

“If you touch a servant girl again,” she said in Norse so he could be sure to understand her, “I will—” what was the word for _annul_ , did the Northmen even have such a concept? “—finish the marriage.”

Even if her accent was poor, the meaning must have been clear enough, because Ivar looked startled. “I will say—” she began once more in Norse, and then switched to English. “I will tell everyone you were incapable of doing your duty as a husband, and you will be free of me and I of you.”

He stared at her with wide, panicked eyes. “No!” he snapped. “You _can’t_.”

“I can,” she said. She leaned back against the door. “You can tell them whatever you like, but I’m the granddaughter of the king, and they will believe my word over yours. It won’t even be a lie. In the beginning I thought perhaps you did not understand what was expected of you, or maybe even that you did not like women at all, but now I think that isn’t so. I think you won’t do it with me because you can’t.”

From across the room she could see his expression darkening, and she was suddenly glad for the space between them. “Shut your mouth,” he muttered at her in Norse, but it was clear that no denial would be forthcoming. Instead he fixed his gaze on the floor.

“I have a proposal for you,” she said, softening her tone slightly. “I will let the marriage continue and I will say nothing. In return, you will never tell me what to do or where I can go. In any disagreements with my father or grandfather, you will always side with me. You will never lay a hand on me without permission. And you will not bother any of the serving girls ever again. Do you agree?”

He gave her a fierce glare, but then his shoulders slumped and she could see he had no real will to fight her. “Yes,” he answered in English after a long moment. “I agree.”

After another moment, she finally crossed the room and took a seat on the bed beside him. “Does anyone else know?”

He glanced at her and then quickly looked away. His cheeks were red. “My brothers,” he replied. “I try—tried with a serving girl. But—”

“Your father didn’t know.”

He shook his head. “He left when I was a boy, and I hadn’t seen him in years,” he explained in his own language. He looked down, picking at a loose thread on his pants. 

“And you didn’t bother to tell him before marrying me.” She had given up trying to communicate in Norse with him by now, but in fairness, he wasn’t attempting English anymore either.

He glared at her once again. “They laugh at me already. If you were me, would you give them another reason?”

“I suppose not,” she had to admit. “But it does not give you the right to behave as you have behaved. You are like a child. Is this how you act at home?”

“You have no right to lecture me. I am your husband.”

Aldreda raised an eyebrow. “I seem to recall that we came to an agreement about that just a few minutes ago; have you already forgotten?”

He rolled his eyes at her but did not contest it, and after a moment, she sighed. “I will refrain from lecturing you,” she said. “But you will hold up your end of the bargain.”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “You have an easy way out of this,” he observed. “Why would you want to stay married to me?”

She shrugged. “A daughter must do as her father says until she marries, and then she must do as her husband says. I did not expect to marry you—no more than you expected to marry me—but I would rather come to an arrangement with you than take a chance on another husband who would be less accommodating. And besides, you might decide to become a Christian in time.”

Ivar actually laughed at that, and despite it all, she could not quite stop herself from smiling. “Or you may become a heathen, and together we will make sacrifices to Odin in your grandfather’s hall,” he said with a grin. “Who knows? Strange things can happen.”


	5. Your stupid bread god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Aldreda’s new agreement is put to the test.

Some weeks had passed since the wedding and Ragnar’s departure, and Aethelwulf had to admit that although the situation with his daughter was far from ideal, things had not gone disastrously so far. They had settled into something of a routine, with Ivar training daily with Aethelred, playing chess with Alfred, taking meals with the family, and occasionally getting hauled into Ecbert’s library to explain some obscure point about heathen ways. The question of religion was still an issue and there had been no further lessons as Father Wilfred had somewhat suspiciously pleaded illness, but Ivar’s English was quickly improving and he and Aldreda seemed to at least be polite to each other in public, if not exactly friendly. 

Though Aethelwulf still didn’t much like the boy and the feeling was obviously mutual, a kind of equilibrium had been reached between them. It was therefore only a matter of time before Ecbert destroyed it. 

“The Mercian border has been unsettled of late,” Ecbert noted idly over dinner one evening. “Some light trouble stirred up by an errant cousin of the late Princess Kwenthrith, nothing to be overly concerned about, but best to handle it before it becomes a problem for us. Aethelwulf, you will lead on this.”

He nodded. “Of course, Father.”

Ecbert set down his cup and motioned for the servant to refill it. “I have a mind you should take the boys with you. They should have the opportunity to see the border and learn from your example.”

Judith frowned even as Aethelred and Alfred’s eyes lit up. “They are rather young, aren’t they? It could be dangerous.”

To everyone’s surprise, Ivar spoke up. “My father took my brothers to Paris at their age,” he said. “Now they are strong warriors.”

Ecbert beamed at him. “You see?” he said to Judith. “It will be good training for them. Oh, yes—Ivar should accompany you as well.”

“What? You can’t be serious, Father.” Aethelwulf stared at him in horror. “Aethelred and Alfred, I certainly understand, but…”

“I want to go too,” Aldreda cut in.

He gaped at his daughter. “Absolutely not. As your father, I forbid it.”

“She can come,” Ivar said forcefully. “As her husband, I allow it.”

“You—you—” Aethelwulf sputtered, leaning across the table as Ivar glared back. He knew he needed to control himself, but after weeks of being forced to accept and accommodate this boy, he had finally reached his boiling point. “You don’t get to allow _anything_. If it were up to me, you would be back among your own kind, far away from civilized people, and far away from my daughter!”

“Enough!” Ecbert snapped, pushing back his chair and standing up. “I want everyone out except my son.”

Ivar looked ready to lunge across the table at Aethelwulf, but then he sat back and actually _grinned_ at him. _You little shit_ , Aethelwulf thought to himself as a pair of guards helped his son-in-law out of the room, trailing behind the others. Once the door was closed, he turned back to his father, who was running his finger around the edge of the cup and gearing up for a lecture that would no doubt begin with _I am very disappointed in you, Aethelwulf_.

“I am very disappointed in you, Aethelwulf,” Ecbert began. “I suppose I must make myself plain, since you still fail to understand my reasoning. A daughter-in-law is a blessing, for she brings land and wealth when she joins your household, but a son-in-law can become a rival and challenge your own sons. You believe my choice for Aldreda was made out of disrespect, but nothing could be further from the truth. I chose a son-in-law that poses no danger to you, whose family connections strengthen us beyond our own shores. My aim—as it has always been—is to protect all your children and their inheritances.”

“A daughter-in-law is a blessing,” Aethelwulf repeated flatly. “That has certainly been true for you.”

A man with any sense of shame would wince or look away, but Ecbert was not that kind of man. Instead he took another sip of wine and then set the cup down on the table with a thunk. “I tire of this, Aethelwulf,” he said abruptly. “Ivar is your son-in-law, whether you like him or not. If Aldreda can understand this then so can you.”

“Oh, I understand well enough what you have done.” He was practically shouting by now, gripping the edges of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “I have suffered this insult, just as I have suffered every insult of yours because you are my father and my king, and you expect me to thank you for it? You force Aldreda into this marriage without my permission, and now you want me to tow this boy and my daughter all over the countryside for the people to laugh at, and I am supposed to be...what? Grateful?”

Ecbert gazed at him coolly, entirely unmoved by the tirade. “I do not expect your gratitude, Aethelwulf. I do expect your obedience, always, just as you would expect obedience from your own children. So, yes, you will go to inspect the Mercian border, and you will take Alfred and Aethelred, and you _will_ take Ivar too, not so that people will laugh but because he is your son-in-law and he should be with you to see it.”

“I will not play nursemaid to this boy.”

“Do you think that is what I am asking you to do?” Ecbert shook his head in amusement. “Bring a carriage. Bring extra servants. Figure it out. You are making this more difficult than it has to be.”

“And my daughter?” he said desperately. “Surely you will not permit this. It is far too dangerous for her.”

“Ah, well.” His father gave him a sympathetic look. “It is not an idea that would have occurred to me, but...the boy is her husband, after all, and if he allows it, then that is his prerogative. I am sorry to say that your authority as a father only extends so far.”

“Fine,” Aethelwulf snapped. “But rest assured, should any of my children be harmed because of this ill-advised adventure, it will be on your conscience, not mine.”

“I have every confidence in your ability to keep them safe,” Ecbert said blandly. With the lecture finished, he leaned back and gave Aethelwulf a satisfied smile that was oddly reminiscent of someone else. “You may go.”

“I think you’re enjoying this, Father.”

Ecbert chuckled. “Oh, I haven’t had this much entertainment in years.”

* * *

The carriage ride to Mercia was bumpy and uncomfortable, but Ivar had to admit that it was a much faster method of travel than crawling or getting carried by his father. He glanced over at Aldreda, seated across from him. She had pulled back the curtain and was watching the scenery go by, but dropped it when she noticed him looking at her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “This is what we agreed to. So I am holding up my end of the deal, that’s all. I don’t know why you wanted to go to Mercia, though.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She raised the curtain again, toying a little with her necklace. She didn’t bother trying to make further conversation, which was fine with him.

For a little while, at least. Then he started getting bored. They had already been traveling for several hours with nothing to do, and there was something he had been meaning to ask about anyway. “So...your god is made of bread?”

She dropped the curtain and frowned. “What?”

“You eat him, right? Is that so you can take some of his power?”

“You mean...the Eucharist?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

She gave him a bemused smile. “During the Last Supper, Christ broke bread and shared wine with His disciples, saying: ‘This is my body, which is given for you’ and ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you’,” she explained. “Therefore, when the priest consecrates the bread and wine, it becomes the flesh and blood of Christ.”

“So your god is made of bread and you eat him,” Ivar concluded. “Ridiculous.”

Aldreda looked irritated. “Well, you don’t have to believe it,” she shot back. “Just like I don’t have to believe your silly tales of how your dead warriors go feast with Odin and then go out and kill each other again every night. That sounds so dull. Why would anybody want to go there after they die?”

He stared at her in outrage. “At least Valhalla is _real_ , unlike your stupid bread god.”

“Oh, so now _my_ god is stupid?” She flopped back in her seat and groaned. “I can’t believe my grandfather married me to a heathen. What did I do to deserve this?”

Ivar snapped, “Well, at least your grandfather didn’t take you to a strange country while promising some grand adventure, marry you off, and then leave!” 

Aldreda looked taken aback by his outburst and fell silent. He suddenly had the urge to throw something, but there was nothing at hand, because he was in a stupid carriage headed to Mercia with his wife and her stupid family. 

He had a wild thought for a moment of himself slipping away from the group after dark and somehow talking his way onto a ship bound for Kattegat. He would just have to crawl through the forests without getting lost or starving to death, scrape together enough gold to pay a captain who didn’t mind risking mild treason, and avoid either getting killed or caught and sent back to the palace in humiliation. If he made it home—and that was a big _if_ —gods, his father would be furious. Abandoning the marriage would doom the trade agreement and risk war. He would have to come up with a good lie. He certainly wasn’t about to tell them the truth. But at least his mother would ensure that he would not be sent back to Wessex.

It was too far in the future to think about what he would tell people when he got to Kattegat, though. And as impatient as he was to get away from these people, he knew his odds of surviving the woods of Mercia on his own were very, very low. He would have to wait until after they returned to Ecbert’s palace in Wessex and prepare a better plan. He needed to play along with Aldreda and try not to make fun of her bread god.

“Sorry,” he mumbled somewhat grudgingly. “I shouldn’t make fun of your bread god.”

She gave him a suspicious look, but then she gave him a tiny nod of acknowledgment. “I’m sorry I said Valhalla was boring. But at least _I_ didn’t eat a page from a prayer book.”

He wanted to offer up some devastating retort, but he couldn’t think of anything. After all, he _had_ eaten that page. Evidently word had gotten around. So he said nothing and Aldreda went back to looking out the window. They didn’t speak again for the rest of the day.


	6. Where is my son?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Aldreda actually become better acquainted. Back in Kattegat, Aslaug receives some upsetting news.

Aldreda had never been close to real combat before, and she was quickly arriving at the conclusion that she did not like it one bit. Even though she, Ivar, Aethelred, and Alfred were well protected and far behind the lines, they were still close enough to hear the clanging of metal and the shouts of dying men. She was the one who had insisted on joining her father on this trip with Ivar’s support, and now she was finally starting to see what a foolish idea that had been. If the Mercian rebels broke through the line, she was doubtful of their chances of survival. After all, Aethelred and Alfred were only boys. Ivar had more training, but it wasn’t like he’d ever been in an actual battle, and at any rate, he hardly looked like he could defend anybody while sitting on the ground. 

As for herself, she had been raised to be a lady. She thought it unlikely that the rebels would be intimidated by her knowledge of Greek and skill with an embroidery needle.

Her hand kept moving unconsciously to the hilt of the dagger she kept tucked away under her furs. To her surprise, Alfred reached out and put his hand on top of hers and gave her a weak little smile. She forced herself to smile back. He also didn’t want to be anywhere near here, unlike Aethelred and Ivar. Aethelred was standing on his toes and straining to see the action, and relaying the information to Ivar on the ground.

“The Mercian left flank is falling back,” he called excitedly to Ivar. “Some of the men at the edges are running away—oh wait, I think they’re just regrouping. Never mind. Oh! That Mercian’s head just came all of the way off!”

“I want to see,” Ivar said. He gestured impatiently at Aldreda and the boys. “Help me up.”

Aldreda glanced at Aethelred and shrugged. Then she knelt down on Ivar’s right side and Aethelred on his left, and after a few false starts and some huffing and puffing—Ivar was taller and heavier than both of them—they managed to get him more or less on his feet.

His expression brightened once he was up, and somehow Aldreda felt slightly less irritated with him even as she staggered under his weight. “I want to be a warrior,” he said wistfully. “Just like my father. Greater than my father.”

Aldreda shuddered. “I think next time I’d rather stay home, myself,” she said. Ivar grinned at her.

The outcome of the battle had not been much in doubt from the beginning: the small band of Mercians were outnumbered and their weapons were poorer. It wasn’t long before they began to break for real and her father rode back in triumph, prisoners in tow and bodies left scattered on the field. When she saw him unharmed, she breathed a sigh of relief. If he hadn’t come back...she didn’t want to think about that.

There was some celebrating that evening, but it was soon cut short by the sudden thunderstorm that came rolling in and sent them all scurrying to their tents. In the tent she was sharing with Ivar, Aldreda hurriedly changed out of her wet clothes and slid under the blankets as Ivar did the same. She could feel him shivering next to her. 

“What are you thinking about?” she whispered.

She hadn’t expected much of an answer, but he turned his head and looked at her. “I was thinking about your face when you saw your father return,” he said. “It made me think about my own father.”

“You miss him, don’t you?”

He swallowed and gave her a small nod. “I told you that he left when I was a boy and did not come home for a long time. Everyone thought he was dead, but I never believed it. I waited and waited for him. And then, after ten years, he finally came back, and I left behind everything so I could come to England with him, because my brothers would not do it, and I wanted to...I wanted to show him that I was a man too. Because he is a great man. The most famous of our people.”

He was quiet, but she sensed that there was more he wanted to say. He hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath. “But that wasn’t the first time he left me,” he said with difficulty. “He left me out to die when I was just a baby. He told me he did it because he believed I would die anyway. But I always thought he was just ashamed of me.” 

“I am sorry,” Aldreda said, uncertain how to comfort him—or even if she should try to comfort him. Anything else she could think to say sounded trite.

Ivar shook his head. “And now he has left me for the third time,” he said. “After all that, I miss him anyway. I wonder if I will ever see him again. Or my mother and my brothers. My mother must be worried sick over me. I hadn’t thought about that before I left.”

She rolled over on her side so she was facing him, knees almost touching. “Tell me about your mother.”

“My mother? She’s the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said with pride, and then scoffed when he saw her skeptical expression. “You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true. She is the daughter of the famous shieldmaiden Brynhildr and Sigurd the dragon-killer. But she is not just beautiful, she is also wise. And the gods favor her with visions that come true.”

“You’re lucky to know your mother,” she sighed. “Mine died when I was a baby and I have no memory of her. The only thing I have from her is this necklace my father gave me when we married.” 

She held it out to show him, and he ran his fingers along the gold chain. “She was from Mercia,” she said. “That’s the reason why I wanted to come on this trip. So I could see her homeland.”

“Hmm.” He gave her a thoughtful look, as though he was actually interested in what she had to say. “What do you think, now that you’ve seen it?”

She shook her head and then stretched out on her back again, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. “It doesn’t look that different from Wessex,” she said. “Just forests and farmland. But I like to imagine her riding a horse along these same roads. I keep thinking that one of these mornings, we might pass her.”

It was more than she should have admitted to him—too personal, too intimate. But they were married now, weren’t they? So maybe it was all right to share these things. She heard Ivar shifting around in the darkness beside her to get comfortable. Then, to her surprise, she felt him reach out and take her hand. She soon fell asleep that way, her hand in his, warm under the blankets, listening to the rain coming down steadily outside. 

* * *

Ubbe heard the horn sounding just after dawn. He rolled over on his side and closed his eyes, determined to ignore it and get a little more sleep, but Hvitserk was already loudly tramping into his room and shaking him awake. 

“A ship is coming in,” Hvitserk told him. “It looks like one of Ecbert’s. Maybe Ragnar and Ivar have returned from England. Mother sent me to get you up.”

Ubbe groaned, but he threw on his clothes and followed Hvitserk to the great hall, where a small crowd was already gathering. He slipped in next to his mother, her face serene but hands folded in nervous anticipation on her lap. On his other side, Sigurd let out an audible sigh and crossed his arms as the doors opened.

It was just his father. Ubbe suddenly felt sick to his stomach. _He should have gone to England with Ragnar instead of Ivar; it had been ridiculous for Ivar to go in the first place, no matter how badly he he had wanted it_ —

Ragnar waved his hand lazily as Aslaug sat forward, knuckles turning white as she gripped the arms of the throne. “Ivar’s not dead, don’t worry,” he announced. Ubbe let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

A muscle jumped in Aslaug’s jaw. “Where. Is. My. Son?”

His father gave a little half-shrug, and Ubbe groaned inwardly. Beside him, Sigurd was shaking with silent laughter and Hvitserk had covered his mouth with his hand. “He’s fine,” Ragnar said. “He’s just in England, that’s all.”

“In England,” Aslaug repeated slowly.

“Yes, that’s where we went.”

“She’s going to kill him,” Sigurd whispered gleefully, and Ubbe had to admit that this seemed likely. He had seen his mother angry before, but never quite like this. Her face was deep red and she looked like she was on the brink of exploding.

There was a lengthy pause during which Ragnar shuffled his feet and Hvitserk let out a faint “ahem” that mostly went ignored. When their mother finally spoke, her voice was ominously quiet. “And why is he still in England, if you are here?”

“Oh, well.” Ragnar rubbed his head almost sheepishly. “I met with King Ecbert and we made an arrangement. A very good trade deal for Kattegat, some extremely favorable terms, I think you’ll agree—”

“My son. _What did you do with my son?_ ”

“Married to Ecbert’s granddaughter. That was part of the deal, you see.”

Sigurd really did start laughing then, practically gasping for air as his sides shook. Aslaug whipped her head around in fury. “You. Out,” she snapped at them. “Everyone out. Now!”

Ubbe practically had to shove Sigurd to get him moving. Once they were outside, Sigurd fell to his knees and howled with laughter, pounding his fist against the ground. “Ivar—he— _Ecbert’s granddaughter_ —”

Hvitserk was laughing too, though not quite loud enough to cover up the sound of shouting coming from inside the great hall. “Come on, it isn’t that funny,” Ubbe told his brothers, albeit a little half-heartedly.

“Do you think Ragnar knew?” Hvitserk asked once he had managed to stop giggling. “About…you know.”

“Impossible.” Ubbe shook his head. “There is no way he would have arranged the marriage if he had known, and of course Ivar wouldn’t have wanted to say anything, so…”

“Well, the bride at least must know by now.” Sigurd wiped away a tear. “Who could have imagined? Ivar getting married before the rest of us, _and_ to a Christian, _and_ to Ecbert’s granddaughter…”

“This is not good, Sigurd,” Ubbe scolded. “We have to tell Ragnar.”

Hvitserk frowned. “Tell Ragnar? But Ivar’s already married.”

“Yes, but when Ecbert discovers the truth, it will go badly for Ivar and for all of us. They’ll believe Ragnar made a fool out of them. We must put a stop to this before things go too far.”

Sigurd gave him a skeptical look. “So then what do we do?”

“We have to...offer an alternative.” Ubbe winced at the sound of something being thrown inside the hall and landing with a loud thud. “It has to be me.”

Hvitserk raised his eyebrows. “You’ll go marry this girl in Ivar’s place?”

“Well, why not? I’m the oldest after Bjorn, and it will make mother happy to have Ivar back.”

“And you’ve got everything in working order,” Sigurd added with a malicious grin. He clapped Ubbe on the back. “Good luck, then. I can’t wait to hear all about this from Ivar.”

Ragnar stumbled out of the hall moments later and practically tripped in front of them. He straightened up and groaned. “Never marry a woman with a temper,” he confided. “Learn from me. I did it twice.”

“What did she say?” Ubbe asked.

Their father shook his head blearily. “She told me never to show my face in Kattegat again until I bring back her son. She was less interested in the details of the trade agreement than I expected, but after she calms down, I think she will come around. And she’s a woman, after all; once Ivar and his bride give her a grandchild, she will forget she was ever upset in the first place.”

Hvitserk shifted awkwardly from one foot to another and Sigurd looked like he was about to start laughing again. Ubbe cleared his throat. “Yes, well...about that last point…”

Ragnar raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Ubbe looked at his brothers and sighed. “There is something you should know. You may want to be sitting down for this.”


	7. Maybe someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aldreda and Ivar have a cultural exchange. Ivar hatches a plan of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that all the cultural shit is entirely made up and I did exactly zero research. Thank you.

With the majority of the Mercian rebels either killed, captured, or fled, a treaty skewed heavily in favor of Wessex was swiftly drawn up and signed by the victorious and defeated parties. Aldreda’s father was clearly pleased with the turn of events, and he allowed her, Aethelred, Alfred, and Ivar to witness the signing. Afterwards, he hugged Aldreda and her brothers and even gave Ivar an awkward pat on the shoulder.

As everyone else began packing up camp outside to return home, Aldreda and Ivar lingered to look at the treaty. “So that’s it, then?” Ivar asked. He turned the piece of parchment sideways and frowned. “This chicken scratch is the agreement between Wessex and Mercia? A good rain would wash the ink right out. Or I could tear it in half. And then...no more treaty.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t. My father is already upset with you.”

“I just think it is a stupid way to make an agreement. It’s just parchment. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She took the treaty out of his hands in case he changed his mind and decided to tear it up. Or eat it. “So how would your people do it, then?”

“Easy. You make your agreement and swear an oath, and then you perform a sacrifice so that the gods will be witnesses to it and show favor. Usually a goat.” He regarded her thoughtfully and then shook his head. “Well, I see the problem. You Christians don’t do sacrifices. How does your god know when you make an agreement?”

“Maybe He reads it over later,” Aldreda said dryly. “The whole reason to write it down and sign it is to record the details of the agreement so that all parties can be held to account if they break it. What happens if you make an agreement with someone, take an oath, perform a sacrifice, and later on the other person claims that you agreed to something else?”

Ivar shrugged. “Challenge him to single combat for lying. Then you kill him and take his land and his wife as your own.”

“Ah. Of course,” she said. “Well, then, what about us? You and I made an agreement, but we did not perform a sacrifice as your people would do, so your gods don’t recognize it. Nor did we write it down.”

“That is true.” He gave her a thoughtful look, even though she hadn’t been entirely serious. “So what do you want to do about it?”

“Write it down,” she said on impulse, reaching for the quill and ink pot left on the table. She took her small prayer book out of her pocket and flipped to the blank final page. Near the bottom, she wrote in small, neat letters:  _ Ivar and Aldreda have an agreement. _ She signed her name underneath and handed the quill to Ivar.

He took it hesitantly. “I can’t write,” he said.

She pointed out his name on the page. “Just try to copy this,” she told him.

He studied his name for a moment, frowning, and then he set the quill to the parchment and laboriously drew the letters. They came out crooked and wobbly, but it was undeniably his name, and she felt a sudden surge of pride. “It takes practice, but not so bad, right?” she said as she tucked the book back inside her pocket.

“No,” he said. He sounded a little surprised. “So, we wrote it down like you wanted. Now we should make a sacrifice.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I am not sacrificing a goat. I hope you will understand.”

“It doesn’t have to be a goat.” He pulled out a knife.

Aldreda hesitated, and he rolled his eyes at her. “Don’t look at me like that. What, do you really think I’d kill you? Right here in the middle of your father’s camp? Even if I wanted to, I’m not  _ that _ stupid. We can use your knife if you want. I know you have one.”

She did have one, but that was beside the point. She watched as he nicked his index finger with a small hiss. Then he held out the knife to her, handle first, and after a moment she accepted it from him and followed suit. He took her hand and pressed their fingers together. It felt strangely intimate. She could feel her face turning red.

“There,” he said. “Now our oath is sealed in blood.”

He wiped his bloody finger on his pants while she pressed down on hers to stop the bleeding. “I thought you were going to tell me to lick your finger or something,” she joked. “Don’t you pagans drink blood?”

He looked up in surprise. “Oh, of course, we can do that too if you want.”

“Ah...no. That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

* * *

A plan began taking shape in Ivar’s mind in earnest as they made their slow and bumpy way back to Wessex. To make his way home to Kattegat, he would need somebody to help smuggle him many miles to the coast and get him on a boat. The only reason anyone in this place would do that would be for a substantial amount of money. So he needed to find someone greedy. Or, even better—someone desperate. And beyond that, he needed a bribe, since his fellow conspirator would not be satisfied with empty promises. He would want to see payment upfront. Something valuable enough to make it worth the risk.

His eyes went to Aldreda’s gold necklace.

“You look thoughtful,” she said in an amused voice, and he almost jumped. Though they had started this trip to Mercia bickering, at some point along the way he could feel something had changed between them. It made him a little uneasy that he was beginning to actually like her company, and that she seemed to like his more and more. But he couldn’t allow that to be a distraction.

“That priest your father sent to teach me,” he said. “Father...Wilfred, I think. Why did Aethelwulf choose him?”

“I suppose because he knows your language,” she said with a shrug.

“Not as some sort of punishment for him, then.”

“Well, now that you say that…” She frowned and then leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though it was just the two of them in the carriage. “There was a scandal a few months back. Father Wilfred and a few other priests were caught gambling using church funds. My grandfather and the bishop decided to be merciful because his skill in Norse and in Frankish is useful, but he had to pay back the funds he had stolen, which I believe was a substantial amount. It is possible that teaching you is also part of his penance.”

_ Perfect. _ Ivar forced himself to keep his expression neutral. He couldn’t give her any hint of what he was planning to do. “I would like to continue my lessons with Father Wilfred,” he said. “I want to know more about your religion.”

Aldreda stared at him in surprise, and for a moment, he thought she would see right through his subterfuge. But then she unexpectedly gave him a warm smile. “I will tell my father; he will be pleased to hear it.” She added almost shyly, “And I am pleased to hear it too.”

He blushed and looked away, unable to stop himself. She looked happier than he had ever seen her in the past several weeks since they had married. 

“Oh, but Ivar—” she said—had she called him by his name before now?—“don’t torment the poor priest like you did last time. If you want some parchment to gnaw on, I’m sure we can find some scraps around.”

She was actually  _ teasing _ him. Somehow, he didn’t mind. He rolled his eyes at her but smiled back. “Fine. I promise.”

Aldreda leaned back in her seat and gave him an almost hesitant look. “Will you tell me about your home?” she asked shyly. “I’ve never been outside of Wessex, except for this trip.”

“Kattegat?” He took a moment to think about what to say. “The city is on the edge of the bay, surrounded by mountains. It was small when I was born, not much more than a fishing village—that was before my father became king. When I was a child, of course, I thought it was the entire world. Now it’s much bigger and merchants come from all over to sell things. You see all kinds of people there, not like here.

“It gets cold in the winters, but in the great hall where my parents sit, it is always warm,” he continued. “Everyone gathers in there for meetings and feasts. In the summer, I would go with my brothers to the hunting cabin in the mountains to fish and hunt deer and rabbits. The forest there is so thick that even during the middle of the day, it always stays cool and dark…”

There was more he could tell her about Kattegat, like the excitement of the horns blowing when ships arrived in the harbor, or how the hills were carpeted with purple wildflowers in spring, or about the secret waterfall where he sometimes went swimming with his brothers. His heart suddenly felt tight in his chest as he remembered all the things he missed from home. He wondered what his family was doing without him and how long it would take before they no longer noticed his absence. It was almost unbearable to think about.

“Sometimes we sacrifice goats, that sort of thing,” he finally finished, just to make her laugh. “We’re heathens, after all.”

“I’d like to see it,” she sighed. “Not the sacrificing goats part, but everything else. Perhaps my grandfather will allow it someday.”

It was wishful thinking and they both knew it. He allowed himself to imagine what that would be like anyway. His brothers would tease them mercilessly and his mother would initially be suspicious since she had never approved of the marriage in the first place, but with time they would be won over. And perhaps Aldreda would like to see the ocean, since there was none at Ecbert’s court in Winchester. She was sure to be surprised by the size of the mountains. 

He shook his head. That was never going to happen. He was going to find a way to get home and that would be the end of it, and it would be better for both of them. She could marry again, this time to someone more suitable. She might be upset about it for a little while, and then she would move on. 

“Maybe someday,” he ended up telling her. “But you should improve your Norse first. Your accent is horrible.”

They didn’t speak much after that, but after a little while, she reached out and took his hand. Then, she hesitantly leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips. She sat back, blushing furiously—he was certain his face was as red as hers was—and looked away. 

Still, she kept holding on to his hand. He couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.


	8. And lead us not into temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar fucks around and finds out.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”

“Have your debts been forgiven, Father Wilfred?” the boy asked.

The priest looked up warily from his prayer book. He had been reluctant to teach Ivar again after their first lesson, but under pressure from Prince Aethelwulf and his daughter Aldreda, he had little choice but agree—on the condition that Ivar was not to touch any of his books ever again, let alone eat the pages. Everyone had felt that this was a reasonable request, and so lessons had resumed.

Father Wilfred cleared his throat and continued the prayer. “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.” He crossed himself and frowned at Ivar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The boy raised his eyebrows. He reached out, grabbed at the priest’s sleeve, and poked his finger through a hole in the fabric just below his wrist. “I think you do,” he said slyly. “I heard you had a problem with your debts, Father Wilfred. As a matter of fact, I heard you stole from the church.” He clicked his tongue. “I can help you.”

Father Wilfred scoffed and pulled away. How in God’s name had the boy heard about  _ that _ ? “I doubt that very much. I sinned, but the king has been gracious.”

“Of course,” Ivar nodded. “And I am sure you have done nothing since then that would cause him to regret his decision to show you mercy.”

He dabbed at the small beads of sweat forming on his forehead. It was a bluff, surely. There was absolutely no way that this boy could know that, in a moment of weakness about a month ago, he had taken a small silver bowl that had been carelessly left out on the altar after mass. Although Ecbert had pardoned him before, he wasn’t the only individual to whom he still owed money, and those others were not so forgiving. But Ivar didn’t know about that. Or did he? 

He swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

Ivar leaned in close and lowered his voice. “I want you to help me escape this place and return home to Kattegat. I promise you that the reward will make it worthwhile.”

Father Wilfred stared at him. To meddle with the family of the king bordered on treason, and was a far worse crime than stealing or gambling. As the son of Ragnar Lothbrok, Ivar would no doubt be fine if they were caught conspiring, but Father Wilfred certainly could not plead for leniency on the basis of maintaining important diplomatic ties. His head would be on a stake in the courtyard in hours. 

His jaw twitched. “How much can you give me in return?” 

Ivar told him, and his eyes widened. With that amount, he could pay off his most demanding creditors and still have enough left over to leave Wessex and begin a new life somewhere else, far from Ecbert’s reach — assuming, of course, that Ivar could actually deliver what he was promising, which was no certain thing. It was reckless and risky. But it was a way out. Perhaps God had provided for him after all.

“Is it enough?” Ivar asked nervously. For a brief moment, Father Wilfred could see the desperation in his eyes. If he didn’t agree, then the boy had told him his conspiracy for nothing. And given their first encounter, it gave him some small amount of satisfaction to watch him sweat.

“It is,” he said at last, and watched Ivar breathe a small sigh of relief.

The boy stuck out his hand and after a moment and against his better judgment, Father Wilfred reached out and shook it. “So it’s agreed, then?”

_ God, he was absolutely going to regret this. _ “Agreed.”

* * *

Ivar dedicated the next two weeks to reconnaissance while Father Wilfred arranged his transportation to the nearest port and secured his spot on a boat home. He worked out the schedule of the guards that were assigned to patrol the hallway during the night. He found a suitable location to meet the priest for when he made his escape. He discovered that the gates to the villa were usually closed at sunset, except for the nights before and after a feast for one of the many Christian saints. On those nights, it was normal for carts full of food and drink to arrive and depart at all hours, and the guards tended to be more lax in their inspections. Lucky for him, one such feast was fast approaching.

The Feasts of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, as Aldreda explained to him with probably more patience than he deserved, commemorated the martyrdom of the two apostles. The main thing he took away from the whole story was that Christians had some sort of unhealthy fixation on crucifixion. Aldreda gave him a little smack on the shoulder when he told her this, but she didn’t exactly deny it. 

Since their trip to Mercia, she had been more relaxed around him and wasn’t going out of her way to avoid him any longer. By the gods, she had even  _ kissed _ him. To his profound relief, nothing had happened after that and she hadn’t pressed him on it. Not that he wasn’t interested—even though she didn’t look much like the usual type of woman he liked, he found her attractive enough in her own way—but the prospect of trying and failing with a woman once again terrified him. It wasn’t even important if nobody else ever found out. He would know and she would know for certain that he wasn’t really a man, not in the way that mattered.

At any rate, he would be gone soon and then it really wouldn’t matter. He just had to sit through an exceptionally long and boring mass first. He was too on edge to nod off to sleep as he usually did during these things, so he ended up fidgeting and shuffling around in his seat until Aldreda inevitably jabbed an elbow into his ribs. 

“Ow,” he whispered, pretending she had hurt him more than she actually had. She rolled her eyes and he grinned back.

Finally, after an eternity of listening to the archbishop blather on in Latin and watching everyone else in the room but him go up to the altar to eat the bread god, it was time for the actual feast. The guards carried him to the main hall, which had been fully transformed for the banquet. The first dishes had been brought out by the servants and the wine was already flowing by the time he settled into his usual place at Aldreda’s side at the highest table, which was reserved for Ecbert’s family. Ecbert stood up and clapped his hands, gave a mercifully short blessing, and the feast began in earnest.

Ivar cast his gaze around the hall in what he hoped was a casual manner, until he finally spotted Father Wilfred on the far side of the room. When he caught the priest’s eye, he gave him a cheerful little wave. Father Wilfred immediately looked away. As long as the miserable little priest wasn’t planning to betray him, that was fine. Now it was time to set the next part of his plan in motion.

A servant came by with a wine jug, and he held out his cup. After the girl had filled his cup, he gestured for her to fill Aldreda’s next. “To my wife,” he said, and clinked his cup against hers. Aldreda blushed and took a long sip.

He made sure to keep her cup full throughout the feast. Though she was not a particularly small woman, she was no match for him when it came to holding her liquor. She soon grew tipsy and then somewhat more than tipsy. By the point she nearly fell backwards out of her chair, he decided he had gone far enough. The banquet was winding down anyway; the hall was already half empty and the servants were busy carting empty platters back to the kitchen and mopping up spilled food and drink.

With a word to the ever-present guards, one man draped Ivar’s arm across his shoulder and levered him up while the other offered Aldreda a hand and steadied her when she stumbled. Ivar felt a sudden surge of frustration as he watched. He was her husband and that was supposed to be  _ his _ job, if only...

“Ivar?” Aldreda asked him woozily. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “Let’s go to bed.”

They finally made their way back to their room, albeit more slowly than usual. Aldreda stumbled to the bed and sat down heavily beside him, hiccuping and then giggling at her own hiccups. She fumbled a little while undoing the buttons on the front of her dress, and Ivar waved away the servant who stepped forward to help her. “You can leave us,” he said. “I’ll take care of her.”

Once the servant was gone, he took over the task of helping her out of her dress, letting down her hair, and unclasping her necklace. “I don’t know why, but I think you wanted to get me drunk tonight,” she accused him, words slurring together. She giggled again and bunched the fabric of her shift between her fingers. “Are you trying to seduce me? Do you think that if you give a lady enough wine, you can get her to do whatever you want?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, unable to stop himself from blushing. He hoped he could hide her necklace before she noticed, but she stood up, crossed the room on unsteady feet, and dropped it on top of the dressing table where she usually kept it. Then she plopped back down on the bed and watched as he undressed. For the first time in weeks, he suddenly felt shy around her. 

“You could try, if you want,” she said. “To seduce me, I mean. I wouldn’t mind. We’re married, after all.”

“You’re drunk,” he told her bluntly as he set aside his shirt. He didn’t think she was mocking him, but he couldn’t quite believe she actually meant it either. At any rate, her timing couldn’t have been worse. “And you know I can’t do that.” 

His words came out more harshly than he had intended, and she winced. “I meant no offense,” she said.

He sighed. “I know you didn’t.”

They didn’t talk after that. Aldreda turned on her side, facing away from him. Before long, he heard her breathing grow slow and steady. He lay on his back, wide awake, and watched the shadows move across the ceiling. There was nothing he could do now except wait until Father Wilfred was ready for him, but his mind was already racing ahead to the next thing. By evening the next day, he would be on a boat headed home. He could already picture the approach to Kattegat and the curious crowd gathered on the dock, with his parents and brothers at the front waiting for him...

The bells rang. It was exactly one hour after midnight. With his heart thumping in his chest, Ivar slid out of bed as quietly as he could and started to get dressed. Usually, he would just scatter his clothes on the ground and let a servant pick them up for him later, but tonight, he had been careful to keep everything he needed in a neat pile so he wouldn’t waste time fumbling around. As he pulled on his boots and laced up the leather braces he wore around his legs, he listened to Aldreda snoring faintly on the bed. She was normally a heavy sleeper anyway, but with all the wine he had plied her with, he felt certain she would not wake.

Once he was fully dressed, he crawled over to the dressing table she had left her necklace on top of. Ivar suddenly realized that it was just out of his reach while he was on his hands and knees. He let out a quiet curse as he gripped the edges of the table and painstakingly pulled himself to his feet. 

Aldreda shifted in bed and he froze, his legs trembling underneath him as he tried to keep his balance. “Ivar?” she asked sleepily. 

“Go back to sleep,” he told her. He could feel the table starting to tip and he threw all his weight forward to prevent it—and himself—from crashing to the floor. He had prepared an excuse in case Aldreda woke while he was getting dressed or leaving, but it would be a little more difficult to explain to her that he had inadvertently knocked over her dressing table while trying to steal her mother’s necklace as a bribe for his escape attempt.

“Mm,” she answered. She rolled over and her breathing slowed once again, and Ivar let out a silent sigh of relief. He quickly snatched the necklace, lowered himself back down to the floor, and shoved it into his pocket before he could change his mind.  _ It’s just a necklace _ , he lied to himself.  _ Her father can get her another one. _

He knew he couldn’t linger any longer. The guard that patrolled the hall outside their room would be changing soon, and he had to time it so that he left while the hallway was clear and before the next set of guards arrived. He crawled to the door and strained his ears, listening to the faint murmur of voices on the other side. An eternity passed before he finally heard them walking away.

Ivar exhaled slowly and waited another moment. He cast one final look back at Aldreda before reaching up to grab the handle and tentatively pushing the door open.

The hallway was empty. The next set of guards was late, no doubt caught up in the aftermath of the feast. He silently thanked the gods, dragged himself into the hall, and carefully shut the door behind him, checking again to make sure he hadn’t been seen. Then he made his way as quietly and as quickly as he could to the meeting place he had chosen with Father Wilfred. 

The priest was already waiting for him inside the rarely-used storage room down the hall, tapping his foot impatiently as Ivar crawled inside. “You’re late,” Father Wilfred snapped. The man looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and he kept anxiously glancing over his shoulder even though it was just the two of them in the room. He held out his hand. “I want what you promised me.”

“Fine.” Ivar took the necklace out of his pocket and reluctantly handed it over. The priest held it in his hands for a moment as though weighing it, and then he stuffed it down his shirt. They both knew there would be no going back for either of them after this. 

“Cover yourself,” the priest ordered, tossing Ivar a large, dirty blanket in return. After Ivar wrapped himself in the blanket and covered his head, Father Wilfred picked him up with a grunt and slung him over his shoulder, staggering under his weight.

“Really?” Ivar groaned as Father Wilfred started walking. It would be extremely obvious to anybody they passed that the priest was carrying a body, blanket or no blanket. “This is the best disguise you could come up with? We’re going to get caught.”

“We will  _ definitely _ get caught if you keep talking,” Father Wilfred whispered back. “And if you had a better idea for a disguise, you should’ve told me. You’re the most recognizable person in this entire palace!”

“That’s not my fault,” Ivar said, but he shut up after that. From inside the blanket, he had no clue which direction Father Wilfred was taking him, and for a moment, he wondered if he had horribly misjudged the man. The priest could be taking him straight to Aethelwulf to tell him everything. Then they’d toss him in the dungeon and leave him there for the rest of his life. He could call the man a liar, but it would be no use—after all, it was hard to come up with an innocent explanation for why he had just stolen Aldreda’s mother’s necklace and had himself wrapped in a blanket to get smuggled out of the palace. 

Fortunately for him, Father Wilfred did not take him to Aethelwulf. After a considerable amount of huffing and puffing and Ivar repeatedly banging his chin into the priest’s back as he went down some stairs, Father Wilfred finally paused, dumped Ivar on the ground, and pulled the blanket off his head. 

Ivar blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. They had ended up on the grounds just outside the kitchen, behind a cart full of wine barrels. Father Wilfred was saying a few words to a burly man that Ivar assumed was the owner of the cart. Then he turned back to Ivar and gestured to an empty barrel that was lying on its side. “In you go,” he said. “Everything has been arranged. My friend here will take you directly to the closest port and the boat to Kattegat.”

Ivar looked dubiously at the inside of the empty barrel. It seemed far too small. “You can’t be serious,” he complained, but after a moment he scooted inside and discovered that it was indeed a very tight fit. His joints protested as he tried to fold his legs in closer to his body in a hopeless attempt to get comfortable. The wood reeked of wine and it made him slightly nauseous. 

Once he was in, Father Wilfred and the other man turned the barrel upright and lifted it onto the cart. Ivar looked up to see the priest staring down at him with a thoroughly annoyed expression on his face. It occurred to him that he was unlikely to see Father Wilfred after this. He opened his mouth to speak.

“I hope I never see you again in my life,” Father Wilfred said before he could say anything. Then he jammed down the lid and left Ivar in almost complete darkness.

He waited there for what felt like years. Finally, the cart began to move. He gritted his teeth as they hit seemingly every pothole in the road and he attempted without success to find a better position for his cramped legs. With the lid on the barrel, the smell of stale alcohol was nearly overwhelming and he could hardly keep himself from retching. 

His adrenaline had kept him going all night, but as the cart rattled on through the darkness he finally felt himself growing sleepy. Despite the discomfort of being squeezed into a barrel, he ended up dozing intermittently and then jolting awake whenever the cart hit a rough patch. After the first few times this happened, he found himself longing for the soft sheets and down-filled pillows on Aldreda’s bed, and the gentle warmth of the sunlight hitting his face in the morning, and lying there half-awake until finally Aldreda yawned and nudged him to get up…

Gods, what was wrong with him? He had left all of that behind. He tried instead to think about home, and everything he was going to do when he made it back to Kattegat—assuming his mother ever let him out of her sight again. But he would wear her down eventually. He always did.

After a long while, he could hear the birds starting to chirp, and around the edges of the lid, there was the faintest hint of light. He inhaled deeply, trying in vain to pick up the smell of salty air over the stench of old wine. Father Wilfred had told him it would be a day’s journey to reach the port by cart, but perhaps he had overestimated it. They might be there sooner. 

The cart came to an abrupt halt. Ivar heard men talking and then the sound of somebody climbing onto the back of the cart. His heart beat faster. Perhaps the cart driver had decided they were far enough away from the royal villa and it was safe to let him out. Or maybe they had already arrived. Once he was on the boat, nothing—barring another storm or some other intervention of the gods—would keep him from making it home to Kattegat.

The top of the barrel was suddenly wrenched open. Ivar blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light only to find Aethelwulf glaring down at him. His father-in-law’s face was red with fury.


	9. Many foolish things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of the prodigal son-in-law.

It was the smallest of mercies that Aethelwulf did not speak to Ivar at all on the miserable trip back to Ecbert’s court except to bark an order or two at him. He had him slung over the back of a horse and tied securely to the saddle, and Ivar discovered within about half an hour that this method of transportation was about as uncomfortable as the barrel had been, albeit in an entirely different way. He gnashed his teeth and tried to ignore the ache building up in his muscles. Stiff and cramping legs were the least of his problems right now.

After an interminable ride with few stops, they arrived back at the palace just before sunset. Ivar felt his stomach sink in despair as they passed back through the gates. A crowd had gathered in the courtyard to witness their arrival, and none of them seemed particularly happy to see him. Aethelwulf’s wife Judith was standing there with her arms crossed, and Aethelred and Alfred both bore gloomy expressions. Aldreda was nowhere to be seen.

With a nod from Aethelwulf, the guards none too gently untied Ivar from the horse and dragged him inside the villa. Rather than taking him to the throne room for a trial or tossing him straight into the dungeon as he expected, they took him to Ecbert’s bath house. The king was waiting for him there, his head bobbing just above the water and a look of displeasure on his face. He gestured at the guards, who dropped Ivar on the damp ground with a thud and then backed away quickly.

“Father,” Aethelwulf said in a tight voice. He was hovering in the doorway and clearly on the verge of an explosion.

“Leave us for a moment, Aethelwulf,” Ecbert said. After a moment, Aethelwulf nodded and walked away without a word, slamming the door behind him.

“My son would have you punished,” Ecbert said bluntly. “For the disrespect you have shown to his daughter, he wants you whipped and a public display of repentance. I will not do that. You are young and you made a foolish mistake. I did many foolish things when I was your age. But being young and a fool is not an excuse for the harm done. Do you understand?”

Ivar stared at the floor. “Yes, King Ecbert.”

“Have you been mistreated in your time among us?” Ecbert asked, sinking down even deeper into the water. “Has anyone done anything, even inadvertently, to cause you offense? If so, tell me. I will see that it is resolved.”

“No,” Ivar muttered, and that was the truth. “I have been treated well.”

“I am glad.” Ecbert stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I recognize that your marriage to Aldreda was undertaken quickly and you had little time to prepare yourself, which I now understand was a mistake on my part. Neither of you were ready, and for that, I take responsibility. But it seems to me that you and Aldreda get along well enough. Am I wrong?”

“No. She is not to blame.”

“Then why did you do it?”

He supposed he could tell him the entire humiliating truth. He could say, _you married your granddaughter to me even though I knew from the beginning that I was unable to do a husband’s duty, and rather than admit it, I tried to run away because I wanted to go home._ The whole charade would finally be over. He opened his mouth to speak and then stopped. It was too shameful to be spoken aloud.

When Ivar didn’t answer, Ecbert sighed. “I wish to remedy this swiftly and without fuss, for the sake of my granddaughter and because of my friendship with your father,” he said. “You will not be punished in the manner Aethelwulf requests. However, you will apologize to Aldreda to her satisfaction, as she is the one who has been most affected by your thoughtlessness. And you will henceforth conduct yourself in a manner befitting a husband of a princess of Wessex.”

“I understand,” Ivar said as Ecbert stood up, dripping and fully naked. He stared at his hands as the king went to towel off and let the guards back into the room. “What happened to Father Wilfred?”

“Father Wilfred—prudently—has fled,” Ecbert answered while the guards draped Ivar’s arms over their shoulders and got him to his feet. “He made a serious mistake before, and I chose to show him mercy. He took advantage. Should he be found, I feel no need to show mercy a second time.” His voice turned cold. “I hope you take my meaning.”

“I do,” Ivar said. What else could he say?

Ecbert sniffed the air and frowned. “Oh, one more thing, before you see my granddaughter—since you’re here already, please take a bath.”

* * *

The sun was sinking below the horizon by the time Aldreda heard the knock at her door. Out of all the people in the entire world, Ivar was the one she wanted to see the least. But once again—and as in all things—the choice had already been made for her. 

For a moment, she considered what would happen if she locked the door and refused to let him in. Her father would come at her grandfather’s request to try to persuade her, and when that failed, the king himself would arrive. Unmoved by tears or rage, he would speak about the Christian virtue of forgiveness; he would remind her of her vows to obey; he would draw on an appropriate historical or biblical anecdote to illustrate his point. Then, when none of that worked, her grandfather would simply order the guards to kick the door in anyway.

She opened the door. Propped up between two guards, Ivar met her eyes but said nothing. He was slightly damp and did not look especially sorry. The guards deposited him on the bed and then quickly made themselves scarce, with her servants scurrying after them like mice.

“I am only here to listen to your apology because my grandfather the king commanded me,” she said once the door was closed. “If it were up to me, I would never have to look at your face ever again. I’d have you on the next boat to Kattegat, just like you wanted. Then we’d both be happy.”

He glared at her. “What do you want me to say? You’re just going to be mad at me anyway. It doesn’t matter if I apologize or not.”

 _Unbelievable._ She desperately wanted to slap him, but she crossed her arms instead. “All right, tell me. What do you think I am mad about?”

He actually had the nerve to roll his eyes at her. “Fine,” he muttered. “I lied and I stole from you. I’m sorry for all that.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Don’t push me, woman.”

“How _dare_ you,” she seethed. She could hear her voice beginning to crack. “You know perfectly well what you did. You didn’t just lie to me, you used me in your stupid plans. You didn’t just steal from me, you stole something you knew was important and irreplaceable and that I will probably never get back. You did this after I covered for you so that you would not have to face the embarrassment of people knowing your secret. You did this after I told you things about myself and gave you my trust.”

“I never asked for any of this!” Ivar snapped. “I never wanted to marry you! All I want is to go home!”

He sounded like he was on the verge of tears, and for all her anger, Aldreda suddenly felt exhausted. It wasn’t like _she_ had wanted to marry him either—not that he cared about her feelings on the matter. She crossed the room and took a seat on the other side of the bed.

“Do you want to annul the marriage?” she asked him quietly. “Because I will agree to it. We can...we can tell my grandfather that we tried our best and it didn’t work. It’s the truth. Sort of.”

Ivar pulled his legs onto the bed with a grunt, flopped onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. “You know I can’t do that,” he mumbled.

“Can’t you?”

He swallowed and shook his head. “They’ll all laugh at me.”

She bit back a frustrated groan. “So what if they do? They don’t matter,” she said. She kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed beside him, careful to keep her distance. “Aren’t you tired of being ashamed of yourself?”

“What do you know about it?” he said with surprising vehemence, turning to look at her. “You’re not the one they would be laughing at. Don’t pretend like you understand.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I’m trying to understand, though.”

“Hm.” He looked away again and his jaw twitched. “Sometimes...I wonder what I did to offend the gods. But how could I have offended them before I was even born? Maybe this is all a stupid joke to them. I hate it.”

She could think of nothing to say to that. She certainly could not speak to the intentions of his gods. “So you cannot go home, but you don’t want to annul the marriage,” she said instead. “What _do_ you want?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

They lay there together in silence as the sky darkened and the servants came in to light the candles. After a while, Aldreda got up and stripped down to her shift, and Ivar undressed as well. They climbed back under the covers, each of them lying as close to the opposite edge of the bed as they could get. Aldreda closed her eyes and listened to the sound of Ivar breathing in the dark. 

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Some part of her wanted to say _sorry isn’t enough._ Being sorry wouldn’t change the fact that he had lied to her and taken her mother’s necklace. Being sorry wasn’t enough to regain her trust, not after tricking her into thinking he actually cared for her. It was that part that stung the most. 

She hadn’t cried on their wedding night or when her father told her she was to marry a pagan. She hadn’t cried when she had woken in the middle of the night to discover Ivar had left and taken her mother’s necklace with him. She hadn’t cried when she heard he had been found. But now she could feel something bubbling up inside her; all the things she had been pushing back all those weeks. She was tired her own stupid idea for this sham marriage in the first place and tired that she would now have no choice but to continue it. Most of all, she was tired of _him._ Hadn’t she tried to do everything that was expected of her? Hadn’t she done her duty? Hadn’t she been an obedient daughter? What more was she supposed to do?

Before she could stop it, a loud sob erupted from her throat, soon followed by another. She curled up on her side and squeezed her eyes shut as hot tears dripped down her cheeks and her nose filled with snot. She wanted to stop; she didn’t want to weep in front of him like some stupid girl, but it was too late for that now. 

“Aldreda?” Ivar asked in alarm. “I’ll get the necklace back for you.”

“I don’t care what you do, just leave me alone,” she mumbled. He really was a fool if he thought that this was the only problem right now. 

She felt him touch her shoulder and she jerked away. He didn’t try to touch her after that. While she sobbed, she heard him roll out of bed and onto the floor, fumbling around in the darkness for his clothes. He then crawled over to the door and said something she couldn’t hear to the guards. Whatever he said, they hauled him to his feet and took him away, shutting the door behind them.

All alone in the dark, her tears kept coming.


	10. Women's work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aethelwulf and Aldreda both receive unexpected visitors.

It was nearly midnight when the knock came at Aethelwulf’s door. Having exhausted himself from spending the better portion of the last twenty-four hours searching for Ivar and then retrieving him, he did not feel especially inclined to answer. When the knocking persisted, however, he finally got out of bed and wandered over to the door, yawning. His father might have some urgent dispatch he needed help with, or one of the boys might have come looking for him after a bad dream. As ever, duty came first.

Unfortunately, his visitor turned out to be his son-in-law, propped up between a pair of guards and with an oddly desperate look in his eyes. “I made a mistake,” Ivar said before Aethelwulf could close the door in his face. “I need to fix it. And I need your help to do it.”

Aethelwulf rubbed his beard and sighed. “Can this not wait until the morning?”

Ivar set his jaw. “Please.”

Aethelwulf had spent the entire day furious at the boy for the humiliation he had brought his daughter, and then at his father for his refusal to punish him. Most of all, he had been angry at himself for allowing things to ever get to this point, as he could not see how the situation would improve from here. If only he had been more firm with his father from the beginning, perhaps none of this would have happened. 

Still. The boy had come to him, and he had not expected that. Against his better judgment, Aethelwulf stepped aside and gestured for the guards to set him down in the chair across from his desk and leave. Once Ivar was settled, Aethelwulf shut the door, took his seat on the other side of the desk, and crossed his arms.

“I took your daughter’s necklace and I gave it to Father Wilfred,” Ivar said without preamble. “I have to find him and make him give it back.”

Aethelwulf raised his eyebrows. “We have had men out searching for the priest ever since we found you were missing, but to no avail. It seems he planned for his own escape with more care than he planned for yours. For all we know, he may already be on a boat headed far from England.”

“You don’t understand,” Ivar said, sounding increasingly desperate. “I _have_ to get the necklace back or Aldreda will never forgive me.”

“Perhaps you should have thought about that before you took it,” Aethelwulf answered coldly.

“Yes, I understand, but it’s a little late for that now.”

Aethelwulf leaned back in his chair. “Suppose your plan had succeeded,” he said thoughtfully. “Suppose you somehow made it back to Kattegat in one piece. What if you had already gotten Aldreda with child?”

“I didn’t,” Ivar said quickly.

Aethelwulf sighed. “Well, but how can you be sure? It takes some time before a woman knows for certain, and even then, she might wait to tell you.”

Ivar hunched over in his seat, refusing to meet his eyes. “I would never leave her like that,” he insisted. He looked deeply embarrassed.

He knew the boy was not stupid, but he was clearly not quite grasping the point. He scratched his face. “In time, and by the grace of God, you will one day be a father. I take my responsibilities as a father seriously. I hope you will do the same.”

Ivar nodded. “I will.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “All right,” Aethelwulf said. “How do you propose we find this wayward priest? He didn’t tell you his plans?”

“I didn’t ask. That probably would have helped.” Ivar frowned. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“We questioned the servants after Aldreda woke and found you had disappeared. Several of them had seen Father Wilfred carrying something that appeared to be a body wrapped in a blanket down to the kitchen, so it was not hard to figure it out from there,” Aethelwulf said dryly. “You really should have thought of a better disguise.”

“That was Father Wilfred’s fault,” Ivar grumbled. “I _told_ him somebody would notice.”

Aethelwulf glared at him. “Don’t blame Father Wilfred for something that was your own foolish idea,” he said. “You say you want to find him to get Aldreda’s necklace back. Fine. Tell me how you want to go about doing this.”

“I want to talk to the cart driver. He should know where Father Wilfred was going.”

Aethelwulf shook his head. “We already questioned him, and he didn’t know Father Wilfred’s plans. He said he met the priest at an inn some distance south of here, but that was all. He’s not going to know more now than what he knew twelve hours ago.”

“And you didn’t send anyone to go talk to the innkeeper?” Ivar asked testily. “The innkeeper might know who else the priest met with while he was there.”

Aethelwulf gave him an irritated look. “Naturally, it is unfortunate that we have not yet been able to track down Father Wilfred, especially considering that he is now in possession of my first wife’s necklace—because of your actions, I hasten to add—but our energy was largely focused on finding you, for reasons I hope are obvious. We are probably too late to find the priest now.”

“Well, you found me,” Ivar said, gesturing to himself. “Maybe you’re right that it’s too late to find the priest and get the necklace back, but it’s worth a try. For your daughter.”

For Aldreda. For his eldest child, who he had already failed in his inability to prevent this marriage from going forward in the first place. Aethelwulf rubbed his eyes wearily. “Very well, then,” he sighed. He looked over at Ivar, but his son-in-law had already dropped himself to the ground and was making his way to the door.

“Let’s talk to this innkeeper,” Ivar called over his shoulder as he shoved the door open. “What are you waiting for?”

Aethelwulf let out a sigh and followed.

* * *

When Aldreda woke up a little before dawn, Ivar hadn’t returned and his side of the bed was cold. _Good_ , she thought as got up to wash her face. In the mirror, her face was splotchy and her eyes were red and swollen. Even by candlelight, she knew she looked like a mess—more like a distraught child than a princess of Wessex. When morning arrived, she would have to compose herself once again to face her family and the court. There was nothing she wanted less than that.

Without thinking, she found herself reaching for her necklace on her dressing table before she remembered it was gone. Then she groaned and flopped back down on the bed face first. She was glad Ivar wasn’t there because even thinking about what he had done made her angry. The least he could do was leave her alone like she had asked.

There was a knock at her door and Aldreda groaned. Of course he couldn’t _actually_ leave her alone. “Go _away_ , Ivar,” she yelled, smashing her face into her pillow. She was prepared to throw it at him if he entered anyway.

“Aldreda?” 

It was Alfred. She sighed and sat up. “Fine, you can come in.”

Her brother edged into the room a little anxiously, as though he thought she might shout at him. He was carrying a chess board and a box with the pieces. “I couldn’t sleep. Do you want to play?”

She shook her head. Playing chess would make her think about Ivar, and she didn’t want to think about him any more than she already was. 

“Okay.” Alfred set the board aside. “Embroidery?”

She smiled and went to go fetch her needles and thread. Even though she wasn’t really supposed to, she had been teaching Alfred how to embroider. They had been working on embroidering cats together, though after their return from Mercia she had started on making a goat for Ivar just as a joke. Now she set that one aside and went back to her cat embroidery. It was a silly little exercise, but she found the activity soothing and it was nice to see the result at the end. Besides, sometimes you just needed to repeatedly stab a piece of cloth with a needle, which certainly suited her mood this night.

She had shown Ivar some of her embroidery before and he had admired it and then spoken enthusiastically about his mother’s weaving, but when she had suggested she could teach him, he had become offended. “You want me to do women's work?” he had asked in a tone that suggested exactly what he thought of _women’s work_. 

She hadn’t asked a second time. But one night, while he was dozing and she found herself unable to sleep, she had gotten up and gathered his clothes off the floor so nobody would trip over them. Out of curiosity, she had spent a few moments examining the craftsmanship of the leather gauntlets he wore to protect his hands and wrists. They were sturdy and well made, as she expected, and they fit him well. 

She had found the signs of an old curve-shaped tear on the left one, just below the palm. The person who had done the repair had stitched it into a small dragon’s head with its mouth hanging open and tiny teeth bared. Because of its location, it was clear it wasn’t meant for show. He was the only one who would see it. 

_Women’s work_ , she had thought. Probably his mother’s. _Whoever did this, she did it because she loved you._

Marriage, she had found, was also women’s work. Though her stepmother could not have anticipated Ivar’s difficulty, her advice before Aldreda’s marriage had been right, in the end. The wisest course was to do what was expected and give nothing more of oneself. That was not coldness or cynicism; it was simply survival. No false comforts, no gentle lies. Although Judith had never been a particularly affectionate or involved stepmother, Aldreda understood her better now.

She understood Ivar better as well. Some part of her had known all along that she couldn’t fix his problems for him. She couldn’t make him into the man he believed he was supposed to be. Even if she could, she wasn’t sure she would like that version of Ivar. Because the truth was that, despite everything, she _did_ like him, certainly much more than she had expected at the beginning. She thought he liked her too, but maybe that had all been a lie. 

One way or another, however, she was still going to have to deal with him. If he didn’t want an annulment out of shame but he also couldn’t say if he wanted to continue with the marriage, then perhaps she would have to be the one to make the decision for both of them. And if he was really so unhappy here that he had tried to run away, well…

She could go to her grandfather and ask for an annulment on grounds of nonconsummation. She didn’t need Ivar’s permission to do that. True, they had not actually attempted to consummate the marriage in the first place, but Ivar had been adamant that he couldn’t do it and he had never expressed any interest in trying. She vaguely recalled asking him through the haze of alcohol if he wanted to seduce her, and she felt horribly embarrassed all over again. Of course he didn’t actually have feelings for her in that way. He had just been using her until he could find a way to get home. It wasn’t personal.

She knew she shouldn’t feel hurt by that. Somehow it still stung.

But regardless of whether or not they had tried to consummate the marriage, she felt reasonably certain that the king would agree to her request, even though he would be angry that she had initially deceived him. It would mean humiliation for Ivar, no doubt. Then he would be sent back to Kattegat, and she would be put out once more to be sold off to the next highest bidder like cattle. It was a rotten choice, but for both of them the entire situation had been rotten from the start. Better to call things off now while there was still a chance than continue to be miserable together like her father and stepmother.

“What do you think?” Alfred asked, breaking her out of her reverie. He showed her his embroidered cat. It was somewhat lopsided.

She smiled in approval and leaned over and hugged him. “It’s perfect.”


End file.
